by Main, Lynn
The passenger side front door opens. Chris ’ jaw falls open as a man gets drug out and a woman follows him squirming out the same door with a shotgun in her hands. The zombies immediately turn their attention on the poor basterd. Chris looks away and squeezes his eyes shut.
“ At least ten have a hold of him!” Nick says a bit too jovially for Chris. Chris starts to cringe as he waits for the oddly high shrill scream that means the first one has bitten down. But it doesn’t come, Chris looks down and his mouth falls open in surprise again. A body goes flying out of the crowd and then it separates. Chris watches in stunned amazement as the man fights them.
“Holy Shit” Nick mumbles under his breath, turns and trots to the balcony doors. He turns back to Chris just as he pulls one open, “Going to get Mr. Petrova.”
Chris turns back to the man, who is still standing, to his utter amazement. A few moments later, the balcony doors burst open again and Nick is followed out by Patrick and Mr. Petrova. They approach and stand on both sides of Chris who’s almost hanging over the balcony frozen in suspense.
The guy still has n’t gone down. Chris imagines it will happen at any moment but can’t stop watching him. He has actually gotten closer to the balcony and killed at least half a dozen zombies with bare hands. The guy looks like he has been bare knuckle boxing the ghouls since day one. Even from a distance, Chris can see the maze of scars across the man’s face and arms.
The woman climbs up on top of the van and shoots at stragglers. She is pretty and looks young and unharmed from this distance. Chris holds his breath as he turns and sees Mr. Petrova standing beside him, staring at the people in the street too. “Nick, send Kim and Levi downstairs and tell them to get ready to open the doors. Patrick, get everyone else who has a gun out on this balcony.”
A gr in spreads across Chris’ face. Mr. Petrova hadn’t wanted the doors opened ever when there were any freaks or ghouls on the streets. Mr. Petrova, likeable or not, seems bent on survival and that makes him, in Chris’ opinion, a good leader. Still, he is glad they’re going to help these people.
The Waltz I fight for a long time. I fight like a starving lion. I hit them with every bit of hate and frustration from my wasted life. I know there is no hope and that makes me fight even harder. It feels like a modern violent sort of waltz with too many partners. I am pushed and pulled and poked and feel teeth slide across my skin and wet wriggling tongues. I knock a smaller white man’s head off his shoulders with a well planted hay- maker. I smash several skulls together. Many times I just knock them down, shove, and scramble away from them.
There are zombies from every walk of humanity here. Even children, and although I don’t have much trouble with the adults, the children are different. They are truly dangerous. It seems the younger, the more savage they are. I encounter the first child several seconds into the brawl. A blonde girl with her hair in a braid climbs right over the top of a mass of writhing zombies and leaps at me.
I sidestep her and the nimble little corpse lands on her feet and is back on me as I am trying to get free of a man who has grabbed hold of my arm. She comes straight for my throat and I have to use both hands to hold her mouth inches away. She is so strong compared to the others. I finally am able to get behind her and snap her neck; that part is too easy.
A while later, a boy who is probably eight years old or so, grabs me around the waste. He grabs my shirt in his teeth with blurring speed and rips it in half, leaving my stomach bare. It’s so blood soaked that he tries to chew it and as another man grabs me from behind, I plant my heel in his neck and shove hard. The crude crackle of his young bones nearly makes me retch. But it’s effective and he lies with the rest, waiting for trampling and carrion.
Then the gunfire starts.
There are several different kinds of sounds; the rat-a-tat ringing of automatic rifles, the overwhelming booms of shotguns, and the harsh cracks of handguns. I cringe again and again, afraid I’ll be shot. I watch the swell of zombies open around me. I am disoriented and turn left and right swinging my head around but can find no shred of living human that would be firing a gun. Then I hear a hoot above as a rat-a-tat fires off again and another zombie drops behind me.
People are on the balcony of a bank-ish looking brick building that I am standing beneath. It is a wide balcony and there are a large number of people on it. Real goddamn living people!
I don’t have much time to look at them right away; as one zombie falls, two more step forward to take its place. But I’m not far. The horde forced me into the bank’s parking lot and the large balcony looms over me with fire blazing from a dozen barrels. The noise is so loud it becomes silent. I look up again and see some dopey looking blond kid with glasses wave at me and I just want to start laughing…of course there would be a battalion to defend a bank. I spin around and see her.
Faith has climbed on top of the van and started firing at the back side of the crowd of zombies. Another man comes at me with a hiss. He had been a larger man with a stocky build and a big belly, but his belly has been ripped out. The gunfire slows. I scream a blood curdling scream and smash my fist into his teeth. He falls, but when he tries to stand back up a slug is planted in the top of his head from above.
The zombies are not gone, not finished by a long stretch but a nice semicircle has been opened around me. Faith hits me in the back so hard she nearly knocks me over and her shotgun barrel slams into my shoulder. Her arms are wrapped around me and she is trembling. The gun barrel is hot but her breath is hotter on my neck as she whispers a repeated mantra, “Don’t you ever do that again…Don’t you ever do that again…Don’t…”
Under the balcony and up a wide set of stone steps, big wooden double doors open. An old black man with a puffy white semicircle of hair around his head like a halo and a very young pretty Asian girl burst out of them. They shout to us and wave their arms –beckoning us to them. I start towards them but Faith holds my arm and jerks the other way –into the crowd. “We need the suitcase, Les.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief, “Come on there is no time!” I add and start again for the open and welcoming double doors. “No! We have to have it; your medicine is in it! We NEED it!” She screams and turns towards the van. The crowd that was pushed back starts advancing again so I dash past her. As I rip open the sliding door and grab the ugly green suitcase, gunfire starts up again. I hook Faith with my arm as I run back by with guns still blazing above us and drag her into the darkened building.
Girlfriend The relief is instant as the double doors slam be hind me…but the feeling soon evaporates. The woman stands in front of us just a few paces inside the hall, arms crossed with a strangely angry look on her face. The old man shares her bitter stare. It’s as if they hate me.
A double staircase rises up the sides of the room and curves upward and inward elegantly with a thick bannister of dark wood and a burgundy carpet. Other people come running down the stairs on both sides to join the woman with weapons drawn. The old man bolts the doors, as the zombies outside beat furiously on them.
I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at but this isn’t a bank. There’s a balcony across the center of one of the largest and fanciest entrance halls I have ever been in. There is a huge chandelier of elegant small crystals hanging from the high ceiling above us but the bulbs are all dark. Beneath the balcony is another set of double doors very similar to the ones we just ran through.
Another man comes down the stairs last. A quick head count makes 13 of us -counting Faith and myself- standing in the foyer of what looks kind of like a strange church. I stand up straight and take in my surroundings. All of them have guns. Even the old man has a revolver in his belt by his hip. I did not see it before but a 9mm is crossed in the Asian girl’s arms in front of a tattered stained blouse that used to be pink.
The Asian girl goes up to the man who came down the stairs last and whispers to him. He whispers back and she takes the old man by the elbow and guides him up the stairs. Although the r
est of them surround Faith and I, it feels like all eyes are on me. Their guns train on me.
Most of them are pretty young, yet all look like trained killers as they line up their gun barrels, aiming at the same spot between my eyes. Faith steps in front of me and says, “What the Fuck is this?”
“The boy’s dead . You should move away lady, it’s best if we make this quick.” Says the calm man. His eyes are piercing. He shows no emotion in his face or voice as he speaks.
“What are you talking about? What do you mean? Are you saying he can't stay here?” Faith asks. “No . I am saying that he must be put down. We can’t risk opening the doors again. How did you get all the wounds?” The last down the stairs asks with an air as serious as death in his voice. He is an older man but it is hard to tell how old and his face is as still as a painting. His eyes are fixed on mine and he has a single eyebrow raised ever so slightly. This guy’s in charge. The others all look from me to him and await his reaction. All guns remain pointed at my face. He’s totally calm, as if he is just coming down to get the paper before breakfast.
“Why does it matter? He isn't one of them!” Faith shouts pointing her shotgun at him. This draws some of the faces back to us. Simultaneously a few of the guns move from me to her; but not most, not even half.
“Has he been bitten?” The man asks in his same cool calm voice.
“Yes, I have” I answer. I had hoped to find living people. If I hope to stay with them I might as well be honest right from the start.
“Then it is settled. We can’t risk you turning on us. And you will. Lady, move away.” A bald gunman says. “Everyone settle down.” Mr. Calm says. His hands rise slowly and spread out in front of Faith. He confidently steps forward, a small sneer growing on his face. “We saw the way you attacked them…that was quite brave. Though I have seen more than one heroic act since all this has begun…perpetrated by those that have been bitten already.”
There’ s something about the way Mr. Calm says ‘perpetrated’ that makes me kind of want to step back outside after all. “It’s not the case for those not dead already. From these, I have seen mostly acts of cowardice. Now say what you want about cowardice but it is my firm opinion that history is written by men of caution; not men of action.”
I am certain of it. I don’t like this guy. I wouldn’t h ave liked him anyway…but I am just -what was the word Ramirez used- a dweeb. I am just a dweeb to him. He says, “We have no room here for those bitten and infected. They are dead whether they realize it yet or not.”
“ You people are animals. You might as well have left us out there with them!” Faith raises her voice and makes to advance on Mr. Calm before I grab her by the waist.
“No, it's not worth it, Faith.” I whisper in her ear.
Faith grabs my hand and laces her fingers through mine, gripping it tightly, “Let us leave.” She directs at Mr. Calm. “Ma’am, you do not unders tand. If he has been bitten, he will die. He is dead already. And he will turn into one of those things.” One of the youngest kids among them says, advancing on me and pumping his shotgun. He sticks it straight in my chest. “You may think we’re wrong, but we have only made it this far by keeping anyone bitten clear of us. If he has been bitten, he is infected and he can’t stay here.”
“How can you know that?” Faith asks him. “What proof do you have?” She demands. “We have seen it.” Mr. Calm pipes up. “Over, and over...we took in everyone. There were more of us then. The bitten ones get sick, develop fevers, in a day they’re gone…taking others along with them.”
“That just proves my point. He was bitten, but it was much longer than a day ago. He isn’t infected.” Faith says.
“How long ago?” another one interjects.
“I don't know maybe 9 days, but at least a week.” She says. “That's not possible.” The kid with the shotgun says. The look on his face changes from anger to confusion. He repeats it under his breath and looks distraught and immediately removes his gun and steps back.
“Maybe, you have survived longer than anyone we've seen, but there are no doctors here. No one to say if you will remain healthy or not…” The calm man starts but Faith interrupts him laughing. “I don’t see anything amusing here.” He says, allowing a note of his annoyance and paranoia to creep into his voice.
“I’m a doctor.” They are all silent for several moments. Eyes wide. Guns lowering. All eyes on Faith. This for some reason bothers me more than all barrels on me.
“There’s good you can do here. There are more people upstairs, some are injured...not bitten, but some are sick; you could help us.” Mr. Calm says with a note of pleading in his voice.
“What the fuck do I care. You want to kill Les and have me come tend to your sick and wounded. You've got a lot of audacity. No, if the Dead Boy goes, the Doc goes with him.” She says pumping her shotgun and waving it at the crowd.
“But Ma’am he’s dead...or as good as.” Young Shotgun replies. “I don’t care what you think. You’ ve all watched too many horror movies. How many innocent people have you killed just because they had been bitten? If I’d been bitten too you would have left us out there.”
“Yes Ma’am” The bald man says crossing his arms. “But not because we don’t care. We are trying to save people here.” “That’s fine. But if we stay here and help you, no one touches the Dead Boy. He’s my Dead Boy. He stays with me.” Faith’s seething. I’m a little shocked.
“Why?” I say looking at her.
“Because, I can't leave you, and I won’t.” She says softly.
“You’re both crazy.” Young Shotgun retorts then turns and heads up the staircase without looking back. I have no idea why she would stay with me, need me, or feel any kind of affection towards me…but I don't care. In this moment I love her more than anyone or anything I have ever known on earth.
“Screw it!” The bald gunman says. “Let them stay. If he turns, then we deal with it.” He turns and walks back up the stairs. While we stand silently facing them, the others all lower their weapons, turn, and start up the stairs as well. Leaving us alone together. The last to go, the leader, folds his arms and stares at us for a while.
“It is strange how much of humanity is lost.” He says out of nowhere, smiles at our confused stares then adds, “It’s strange how much remains too.” With that he turns and starts up the staircase. After taking three stairs he clutches the banister and looks back to us. “Come upstairs and meet the rest of our motley residents.”
“Why did you say that?” I whisper without turning to face her. My eyes instead follow the strangely calm man up the stairs. She doesn’t reply.
Ain’t Right We climb up the grand staircase. At the top on the landing, the old man that opened the doors sits on an ornate wooden bench alone. A gun rests in his lap.
“He really gonn’ let ya’ll stay then?” He asks. “Well that don’ set right with me. I watched ‘em all die.” He says as we step onto the landing. He raises his gun and points it at me. “My wife, of 27 years, my son and my three daughters all got bit. They all got eaten up with whatever is in ‘em and they all gone. Then you walk in here; like this. You spared, and my sweet angels wasn’t?”
He cocks the gun and his head to the side at the same time. “He told us it was worth the risk bringin’ in a doctor an all. He da leader so everyone just gonn’ ‘gree.” He holds the gun up, putting the sights between our eyes, mine and his.
How tired I am of having guns pointed at me. “Tell me sumpin’. Why you? Why dis thing miss you? I wanna know. What make you so special? You got bit same as dem. Didn’t you? But you ain’t eaten up with it. Well? What makes you so God Damn special? If you don't get to talkin’ I'm gonn’ kill you no matter what Mr. Petrova say.” His hand starts to quake. The door opens, and Mr. Calm walks out.
“Levi put that gun down, now!” He says loudly, losing his composure, if only slightly.
“No, Mr. Petrova, I ain’t gonn’. I wanna know why he get to live.” The old man do
esn't take his eyes off me. “This is how it’s always going to be. Isn’t it? Everywhere I go, everyone I see pointing every fucking gun you have at me. You want to know why I’m alive? Is that what all of this fuss is about?” I can feel my heart beating against my chest. “You want me to say that I am righteous? You want me to tell you that I’m above this? I’m not. Not at all, I’m no better than anyone else…in fact I probably deserve to survive less than anyone else. I’m a loser. I'll go back out that door. I'll fight every one of them if I have to. I will free them from this fucking world with my bare hands, or I’ll stay here and help you fight them. I don’t care. But Levi, if you don't stop pointing that fucking gun at me and put it down, I’m going to come and take it from you.”
“Levi, come on now.” Mr. Petrova –formerly Mr. Calm- says, his composed manner restored. “I know you done right by everyone here Mr. Petrova, but it ain’t right, this. Him being here.” Levi says taking his finger off the trigger. The old man sighs and closes his eyes then releases the hammer with his thumb and lets it rest on the cap. He lowers the gun, and we walk past him to the door Mr. Petrova’s still holding open for us.
It’ s an observation room where a large group is gathered. There are more people here than I could have guessed. Some of them are not holding guns. Some of them are kids under 10. Other than Levi, Mr. Petrova’s probably the oldest man, and the difference may be closer than it seems. There are a couple of ladies that are older, and then there is the young Asian girl that opened the doors with Levi downstairs.
She’ s sitting on a bench with two young boys. Her head is bowed, as if in prayer, and the boys are playing some wrestling game. There are a lot of other people but when I nod at them they just stare at me a moment and then as if something very interesting suddenly appeared on the other side of the room, they look away. The whole room’s dead silent. The people are in small clusters. Sitting separated from each other as much as possible with heads bowed and voices hushed. Many of them look like high school aged kids. Anyone that looks at all capable of handling one is holding a gun. Many of them aren’t just hand guns and shot guns, either. These people have machine guns, and lots of them.